


Changes

by AngelOfLorien



Series: The New Kid [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy, Rebellion, Separation Anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 04:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20901509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfLorien/pseuds/AngelOfLorien
Summary: Brady gets reassigned. It doesn't go well.





	1. Chapter 1

May, 2009  
Brady struggled to swallow past the lump in her parched throat as Mr. Coolidge delivered the rest of his address. She, Ronon, and Sheppard had been at Cheyenne Mountain for two days, and for two days she’d been in limbo—what were they doing there? What had Sheppard in such an uproar? Why wasn’t anyone giving her any information? 

She hadn’t seen Cam or Vala, and Sam was wrapped up in some meeting in DC. Daniel was there, though. Woolsey had flown in, which only shot her nerves up higher.

“And so, Dr. Thatcher, in light of your…condition—“ His eyes flicked to her protruding belly—“we have decided that you are to be reassigned from Atlantis to the newly restructured Area 51, effective immediately.”

“Now, hold on a minute,“ Woolsey began, scooting forward in his chair. “Dr. Thatcher is an invaluable member of my team. We are still running off-world missions and need her expertise for translating—“

“Translating artifacts. Yes, Richard, exactly. The fact of the matter is there is no need for a linguist on a spaceship that’s stranded in the San Francisco Bay. At Area 51, Dr. Thatcher will still be able to use her expertise to benefit the SG Program.”

“And when Atlantis is functional and ready to return to Pegasus?” Woolsey asked.

Coolidge closed his folders and stacked them with ominous finality. “Richard, why not take this one step at a time? Much of Atlantis personnel has already been redistributed for the foreseeable future. If and when Atlantis is up and running, we will discuss reassignments.” He linked his fingers and rested them on the tabletop, then looked at Brady. “Dr. Thatcher, we appreciate your contributions to our facility while in the Pegasus galaxy, but, let’s face it, you’re home now. Which is why—“

“Mr. Coolidge,” Brady interrupted. It was the first time she’d spoken since the meeting had started. “All due respect, sir, but my home is Atlantis. Pegasus or Milky Way, I…I belong there.”

“You belong where we say you belong,” Coolidge said. He stood and buttoned his suit. “This meeting is concluded. Dr. Thatcher, you’re to report to your new position Monday.” The sound of his briefcase locking made Brady flinch. “Congratulations, by the way. On your new addition.”

Brady sat at the table long after the IOA filed out of the room. Woolsey remained seated as well. After a long moment, he cleared his throat.

“Brady, I assure you, we will get you back to Atlantis.”

Her lips curved in a humorless smile. “I appreciate it, Mr. Woolsey. But assurances aren’t really something the SC program specializes in, are they?” 

Woolsey met her gaze and set his chin. “This isn’t permanent.”

Unwilling to argue that nothing he or Sheppard or Landry or anyone else said would matter as long as the IOA made the final call, Brady simply nodded.

\--

Ronon pounded the punching bag, slamming his fists with enough force that pain radiated up his arms. It felt good. It would feel better if he was punching Coolidge and the other paper-pushing dalri’kis who were taking the people of Atlantis and shuffling them around like playing cards.

“Easy there, Ali. You’ll give yourself a hernia.”

He turned, catching the swinging bag between his hands. Brady stood just inside the door, leaning against the wall. Beyond her, just on the other side of the door, Sheppard and Daniel were in an animated discussion. He couldn’t hear the words, but from the body language, both men were pissed. His fingers curled into fists when he looked back at Brady.

“So?” His voice was barely a growl, so he cleared his throat. “What’d they say?”

“I…” She inhaled, tried again. “Um, I’m supposed to report to work on Monday.”

Ronon felt his tension leave in a rush, and he sighed on a laugh. “Good. I was—“

“In Nevada.” She looked down and began picking at her fingernails. “I’m, um, supposed to report to work on Monday at…at Area 51.” Her shoulders shook as she tried to stifle a sob.

Ronon shook his head. They couldn’t take her away from him. He crossed to the door, avoiding her eyes when she looked at him. 

“What’re you—don’t.” She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Ronon, dammit, don’t!”

He jerked the door open and kept on walking, dragging her along behind. Sheppard and Daniel had obviously anticipated his reaction. Both men stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Easy, pal,” Sheppard said. “I know you’re pissed. I’m pissed too, but—“

“They aren’t taking her,” Ronon hissed.

“Ronon, the reassignment is temporary,” Daniel said, speaking calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.

Sheppard nodded. “She’ll be back with us before you know it.” 

Ronon scowled. “You’re lying.”

“Well, that’s just hurtful,” Sheppard said.

Brady let go of his arm. “Stop. Ronon just…just stop.” She sounded tired, defeated. And the sound of it cut him like a steel blade. “It’s done,” she said as he turned to her. “Reassignments happen all the time in the military, and even more frequently with the SG program.”

He cupped her face between his hands. “You are not going.”

“I am.” Her eyes filled with tears and closed, face crumpling in despair. Ronon pulled her into the shelter of his body, holding her tightly. 

He looked over his shoulder. 

“We’ll uh, give you a minute,” Sheppard said. Daniel looked as if he wanted to stay, his expression a combination of protective indignation and helplessness. But, after a few seconds, he followed Sheppard down the corridor. 

Ronon ushered Brady back into the gym and locked the door. Without breaking hold, he sat cross-legged on the floor, cradling her in his lap. They were quiet for a long time, the only sound her quiet snuffling as she tried to stop crying. 

“It’s okay, Brady,” he said finally, resting his cheek against her hair. “It’ll be all right.”

“I don’t want you to be mad,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat and lightly stroked her fingers against his forearm, then down to caress his knuckles, still red from his earlier bout with the bag. 

“I’m not.” The lie flowed smoothly from his tongue. “Don’t worry about me. You’ve got more important stuff to take care of, don’t you?” He rubbed a hand over her belly, pausing to feel his child flutter beneath his palm. “He’s upset that you’re crying.”

“She is upset that you’re mad.” Her lips curved against his shoulder, then she sighed and grew quiet again. “You’ll behave yourself, won’t you? While I’m away?”

“I’ll do my best.” There was no use pretending she wasn’t going to Nevada. “The question is, will you behave yourself? You have an impulse control problem, you know.”

As expected, she jerked back and goggled at him. “You’re shitting me, right? I have an impulse control problem?”

He gave her a small smile and she leaned back against him. “It’s gonna be all right. I’m sure they’ll let you come to San Francisco on the weekends or something.”

“We don’t really have weekends if something new or important comes up. And you’ll still be on duty, so if you are on a mission or something—and if they get the city flight-capable, I might not make it back on the roster—“

“Listen to me,” he said, shifting her around so he could see her face. “You are mine. There is nothing—no force on Earth, none of the gods, nothing in this galaxy or any other—that will keep you from me.” He gently brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and kissed her. “We will get you back home.” He gave a rueful smile. “You’ll just have to be patient.”

She snorted. “Again with the pot-and-kettle situation. You can’t even wait for microwavable popcorn to get done.” She kissed his lips, then rested her cheek against his. “This is gonna suck.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, closing his eyes. “Yeah, it is.”


	2. Chapter 2

** June 2009 **

_Any word on how long til I come home?_

_U need 2 b patient doc_

Brady frowned at her phone. She didn’t know which annoyed her more, Amelia’s text-talk or the way everyone kept telling her to be patient_. How’s my babydaddy?_

_good out with the boys at the mo How’s my gddtr_

_Your goddaughter is fine. Had checkup last Tuesday. OB says about a week or so._

_U workin_

She sighed. _Yeah. What else am I gonna do? Sit home and watch River Monsters?_

_could go 2 moms_

_Eyeroll. Can’t fly this close to baby time. Nope, work is pretty much all there is for me now._ She ran a hand through her hair, lips curving as she anticipated her friend’s response.

_choo choo all aboard the guilt trip express_

Brady chuckled. _Haha_

_pity party of 1 ur table is ready_

“Knock knock?”

Brady looked up at her new office mate, a perky, gorgeous twenty-eight-year-old African American genius who looked like she belonged on a magazine cover. In the name of self-respecting plain-Janes everywhere, she should probably hate the woman, but she was just so damned nice. “Hey, Lisa. What’s up?”

“Dr. Thatcher, Patterson said he needs to see you about the orb you translated yesterday.”

“You can call me Brady, you know,” she said, standing. “I’ll be right there.” Lisa nodded and disappeared to deliver the message to Patterson, the department’s primary pain in the butt. _Gotta run. Dr. D-Bag needs to discuss my work. Better not give me any lip. Miss you._

_miss u 2. dont cut a bitch_

_I make no promises._

She tucked her cell phone in her back pocket and grabbed up her bag. She was heading home soon anyway, so with any luck she could go straight from Patterson’s office after walking him through whatever idiot explanation he needed.

She rapped twice on his doorframe and entered his office, glancing down to make sure her lab coat—she had to wear a friggin’ lab coat in this place. Ugh!—was buttoned. Patterson had a wandering eye, and his attention amazingly enough always found its way to her cleavage, which, thanks to baby boobs, seemed to go all the way to her chin.

“Hey. Lisa said you wanted to see me?”

Patterson turned in his chair and took off his glasses. It was a shame he was a dick, because he had a certain Robbie Redford_ The Way We Were_ look going on with his blonde hair, blue eyes, and thick black lashes. He gave a beleaguered sigh and dropped his glasses on his desk, then linked his fingers and rested his hands on the tabletop.

“Dr. Thatcher, how long have you been with us?”

Brady shrugged. “Three weeks or so.”

“Three weeks. And in those three weeks, have you found yourself…confused? Overwhelmed?”

She smiled and breathed a laugh. “No. What’s up, Kevin? You ok?”

“No, Dr. Thatcher, I am not okay.” He held up the inscribed orb she’d translated. “What I _am_ is tired of cleaning up your mistakes.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me? What mistakes? That’s basically a paperweight from P3x-491 from like, three years ago. The inscription is your run-of-the-mill ancient Greek variant that I’ve seen, oh, only two or three _hundred_ times before.”

Patterson put the orb down and picked up a small stack of papers. “Did you catalogue the artifact?” he asked.

“I did.”

“And did you make copies of your findings?”

“Dude, do you just get bored and think of ways to bug the piss out of people? Yes, I made copies. They’re in the folder.”

He gave a tight smile and opened the folder, flipping through the pages. “I see pages one through three, page six, page eight…now, I know many things might have changed while you were off running roughshod in the Pegasus galaxy, but surely you remember how to count, Dr. Thatcher.”

She took a deep breath. “You do realize you could have simply said, ‘Brady, you missed a couple of pages when you ran your copies,’ right, Kevin?”

“I would appreciate it if you called me doctor. I did not pursue multiple advanced degrees to have that hard work disregarded.” He closed the folder, then dropped it into the trash can. “Make new complete copies and have them on my desk before you leave this evening.”

“You aren’t my manager, _Kevin_.” She adjusted the strap of her bag. “Now, you can give me the originals and I’ll make copies of the ones I missed—and I admit, that was my bad. But whatever whacked-out delusion you have that just because I’m the new fish means you have some sort of authority?” She snorted. “Might as well save that for your late night dreams, pal.”

“I’m sure our supervisors will be incredibly interested in your lack of cooperation,” he said pleasantly. “It’d be awful for you to lose your job when you’re right on the verge of giving birth. Welfare isn’t what it used to be.”

This time she laughed outright. “Oh, please. You’re gonna try to strong-arm me? Seriously? I do my job. I’m willing to bet I do mine better than you do yours. Why would they fire me?”

He stood and rounded his desk, leaning against it and crossing his arms. “You’re being watched, Dr. Thatcher. Evaluated.” He waved a hand toward the glass wall, indicating the outer office. “Things on Atlantis were clearly unruly, what with directors coming and going like they did. Everyone around here knows the father of your baby is an _alien_. It’s disgusting, and it creates a bit of a trust issue—a question of who you would choose if it came to us or them. Why do you think you’ve been here for nearly a month and have no friends?”

“First of all, I don’t have any friends here because I’m not really planning on sticking around for long. Second, yes, my lover is an alien. What’s more, he’s an alien from a completely different galaxy. And he, along with our other alien allies, risked his life to help save our entire planet more times than I can count, while you, you snide, arrogant little worm, sat behind a damn desk, squinting at gadgets you don’t have the mental capacity to understand. So if you ever—_ever_—say anything nasty against our working with peoples from different planets, I will call on every ounce of my unruly Atlantis training and run roughshod all over your ass. Are we clear? I will _end you_!”

She didn’t realize she’d moved, but when she’d finished her tirade, she was toe-to-toe with Patterson and had a finger pressed firmly against his sternum. She dropped her hand and took a step back. She glanced out the window, noting that the office had gone quiet. Many of her coworkers were staring curiously at the new alien-humping freak with apparent anger issues. Shit.

In a calmer voice, she told Patterson, “I’ll get those missed copies first thing in the morning. Good night, Kevin.”

She turned on her heel and left his office, avoiding Lisa’s eyes as her cheeks flushed.

Patterson would probably write a report, the a-hole. And practically the whole floor had witnessed her freakout. They’d heard her threaten to end him, and if she was already being watched…and if the thing he’d said about trust was true...

The A51 director would find out, who’d report the incident to Landry, since she was technically under his command now, and he’d have no choice but to report it to the IOA. And she’d get put on some crappy desk duty away from everyone, or worse, get fired and have some government shadow lurking around for the rest of her life, watching her every move. She’d never make it back to Atlantis. Never get back to Ronon. She’d have to raise her baby in some crummy town with a population of three hundred in some landlocked state where there wasn’t any sort of noticeable military presence, like Iowa. The only thing she knew about Iowa was what she’d learned from _Field of Dreams_. Oh, god. She couldn’t raise her baby in a corn field. They creeped her out too much.

By the time she got to her car—on loan from the US government, and another thing she’d lose—she was having a full-blown panic attack. She rested her head against the steering wheel and took deep breaths. Her iPhone rang and she took it out. Daniel was calling, his weekly check-up. If she talked to him, he’d know immediately that she was upset and she’d have to explain why. She tossed the phone into the passenger seat.

“Ok. Ok, little baby, this is…it’s fine. Mom’s just having a bit of an episode. It’s not a big deal.” She grabbed for the phone and pulled up the GPS service. Granted, she was used to military-provided GPS, but for a civilian cell phone, this wasn’t too bad. She keyed in what she needed, committed the path to memory, then cranked her car. If she was getting fired, dammit, she’d do it on her own terms. “So…let’s go make it a big deal.”

\--

Daniel called Brady’s cell again, cursing quietly when she didn’t pick up. He’d been calling for hours. No one had seen or heard from her since she’d left Groom Lake. He’d spoken with Lisa Hauf, Brady’s office mate, and apparently there had been a verbal altercation between Brady and one of her coworkers. Lisa had assured him that Brady hadn’t acted inappropriately and was justified in her reaction to Patterson’s baiting. Kevin Patterson was, Lisa assured him, a “huge effing a-hole.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them, then picked up his phone and tried Brady again. When she didn’t answer, he sighed. Maybe she’d gone out? At a movie or something? Dinner?

“Are you all right, Daniel?”

He turned to Vala and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, just trying to locate a lost sheep.”

“Look for the mate.”

“What?”

“Sheep. You lose one, you get one of the opposite sex and draw it back to the flock. They go right to them. It’s rather silly, if you ask me.”

He furrowed his brows. “How do you even know that? _Why_ do you know that?”

Vala shrugged. “I like to know all sorts of things. Never know when it might come in handy.”

Daniel found himself smiling, even after Vala flounced on down the corridor. His smile turned sour, though, when he fully weighed what she’d said.

Oh…no. Brady wouldn’t—

He hit redial. _Hi, it’s Brady. Leave a message and I’ll call you back eventually, if you’re someone I want to talk to._ “You—you listen to me right now,” he said quietly, turning away from the hall. “Whatever it is you’re doing, you need to stop. I need you to call me back right now, Brady, and tell me I’m crazy for even thinking you’d attempt something as stupid as sneaking through a highly secured Naval quarantine!” He realized he was whisper-hissing like a ninth grade girl and sat up. “Call me back, please. Please, _please_, for the love of God, call me back and tell me I’m wrong.”

He hung up the phone and tossed it onto a stack of mission reports, then let his head fall to the desk, groaning miserably.

This was not good. If he was right, then that meant his infuriating, genius, idiot protégé would be breaking about seven-hundred laws, probably including treason. He could call John or Richard, give them the heads-up. But what if she was just having some pregnant lady night in, phone turned off and watching _Steel Magnolias_ over a pint of ice cream? No, he needed to wait until she called him back. She’d tell him she was doing a girl thing and of course she wasn’t committing treason. He inhaled slowly, exhaled through his nose. Had it been anyone else, he might’ve been able to convince himself of that. But Brady Thatcher…

She’d been fresh out of college—at age seventeen—when he’d first met her. He’d been signing back in from dinner, bringing Teal’c a slice of pizza from a little place at the bottom of the hill, when he’d noticed someone darting from the back of a covered truck. The figure moved along the fence, using the shadows and closeness of a parked military convoy to their advantage. He’d feared at first that it had been a reporter or something.

He’d kept his eye on the intruder as he’d moved around behind. He’d climbed into one of the trucks and radioed for Jack, then hopped down and crept up on the hooded person. They waited for the patrol to start down the drive, making rounds, before moving to the keypad that opened the elevator down to the SGC. Whoever it was, they knew about the program.

When the elevator doors slid open, he’d rushed in, grappling with the intruder and slinging them across the small space. As he’d pressed his opponent’s face into the wall, the hood of their sweatshirt had fallen back, revealing a jagged pixie cut of bright red hair, an earlobe full of hoops, and the face of a mischievous sprite, contorted in insolence, hostility, and more than a little fear. He’d released the little girl immediately, surprised by her youth.

That had been a mistake.

She’d whirled on him, clipping him in the jaw with her elbow. She put him on the floor with a kick to the side of his knee, then locked her fists together and slammed them down on the back of his head. It didn’t quite knock him unconscious, but it came damn close.

The elevator had stopped a few seconds later and she’d lifted her hood, intent on bolting the second the door opened. Fortunately for all of them, Jack and a group of marines were waiting.

She’d taken one look at the guns and said, “Well, hell,” as though they were more of an inconvenience than a threat against her life.

“Jackson, please tell me this girl is a Goa’uld and that you didn’t just get your butt handed to you by a kid in a Batman sweatshirt.”

They’d ushered her to General Hammond’s office and after a few weeks of interrogation and intimidation tactics that had failed miserably, they’d begun administering psych tests and skills exams, eventually the best course of action was to employ her as a linguist. She’d been allowed to fly home to Indiana every few weeks until she’d turned eighteen. After that, she’d told them she’d been hired as a civilian analyst for the military.

She’d been his shadow on base for two years, following his every move, accepting every challenge, surpassing his expectations at every turn. She’d survived Jack’s boot camp and, after the first few times hostile forces infiltrated the base, had been given the green-light to accompany several of the teams off-world.

She wasn’t perfect—he’d wanted to put her in a muzzle and beg Hammond to throw her ass in the brig plenty of times—but she was part of his family. He knew her. He knew well enough that there was no one more loyal and dedicated.

Or as stubborn and impulsive.

He sat up at the desk and eyed his phone. With a resigned grunt, he picked it up and scrolled through his contacts. He leaned back in his chair, listening, counting the number of times the line rang.

“The ozone had better be on fire or something, Jackson. Do you know what time it is here?”

Daniel scoffed. “Yeah. Sorry, Jack. Nothing as easy as burning ozone this time, I’m afraid.”

“Jeez, it’s not another Baal, is it?”

“No. No, it’s, uh…it’s Brady. She’s…well, she’s—I _think_ she might be doing something...impulsive.”

Jack was quiet for a long moment, then he sighed. “Ah, crap.”


	3. Epilogue

Brady wrung her hands beneath the table as the head of the IOA, the head of the SGC, and the head of Homeworld Security glared at her. Coolidge, she expected. Landry, maybe. But Jack never really glared, so that was new for her. They’d been in meeting for about four hours, going through the charges and potential consequences for her sneaking onto Atlantis. Lorne—being the one who’d found her—had been asked to testify, along with Woolsey. Carson had submitted a written evaluation, saying something about heightened emotional states and hormone levels, given that she was about to deliver her child. Whether they’d take that into consideration, she wasn’t sure.

She’d been scared—terrified—that she’d end up in some military prison somewhere in the far reaches of the world. It was a legit concern. She’d been wound so tightly since arriving in Washington—they’d met in Washington, not at Cheyenne Mountain!—that her head pounded with each beat of her heart.

She’d been dismissed for a grand total of twenty minutes, and when they’d reconvened, she’d been even more terrified than before. After Coolidge had droned on with the bureaucratic business, he’d delivered the sentence unanimously decided by the council: a six-months’ suspension from all SG-related activities and personnel, save those involved in behavioral observation every eight weeks.

He’d been hesitant to continue, but eventually added that at the end of the six months, Brady would be allowed to retest for admittance into the program.

“The only reason you’re getting this opportunity, Dr. Thatcher, is because the President ordered it. I believe an SGC base is not the place for an infant, but he is convinced that given the special nature of the Atlantis project, exceptions can be made.” He cut his eyes at Jack, and Brady assumed that he’d probably called in a favor. A big one.

“However,” he’d continued, “you will be bound to the base. You will remain on base at all times. There will be no extra obligations, no work with SG teams other than what is necessary for your linguist expertise. Any overstep—even the slightest bending of these rules, Thatcher—and you won’t just go to a military prison, you’ll go under it.”

Brady nodded. “Sir, I understand and respectfully accept my suspension. My only question is if Ronon will be allowed leave to visit his daughter.”

General Landry spoke up. “Dr. Thatcher, your personal relationships are not our concern.”

“No, I understand that, sir. I do. And I’m not trying to be difficult—“

“You’ve never had to try,” Jack muttered.

“—it’s just that it isn’t really fair to punish Ronon for my stupid actions.”

“You can also understand,” Coolidge said, “that in the name of Homeworld Security, we cannot have an alien militant gallivanting all over the continental United States.” He looked over to Jack. “General?”

“Hm? Yeah. Yeah. Thatcher, contrary to the vibe we give off, we are not a council comprised of rosy-cheeked romantics. I spend 364.5 days a year trying my damnedest to thwart alien incursions, and that other half-day I take on my birthday to go fishing. The SG program isn’t an intergalactic dating service—although, given our current success rate, that could possibly be a lucrative business.”

Brady swallowed and picked at her fingertips. She hadn’t wanted or expected Jack to show her any favoritism, but she hadn’t figured he would agree so wholeheartedly with the IOA.

“But,” he continued, drawing her attention. “Given Ronon’s record of service and the fact that you will be receiving an assessment detail every eight weeks, I see no reason he can’t accompany the detail.” He banged the gavel in front of him. “Are we done here? I’d like to eat lunch sometime this decade.”

Brady felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her chest. She knew Ronon would be upset, but visitation every eight weeks was better than none at all. And most importantly, she hadn’t been sentenced to any actual jail time. That in and of itself was a miracle.

Jack approached and she stood, offering her hand. “Thank you, Jack.”

“For what?”

“You didn’t have anything to do with…?”

He shrugged. “All I did was talk to my pal Davis. Don’t misunderstand, Thatcher,” he said, accepting her handshake. “What you did was beyond stupid. I’m talking light years beyond. But, like you said, it wasn’t Ronon’s fault you have the common sense of a turtle sometimes.”

“I know. And you don’t know how much I’ve regretted my actions. I don’t know…it’s like I’m fine on missions, but when I’m stationed…”

“You’ve never been good with boredom or authority,” Jack said. “And even worse with nitwits like some of these scientists we’ve got running around here. Buncha IOA stooges.” He shook his head. “Listen up, kid. You caught a break this time—a huge one. If I were you, I’d keep every toe in line from here on in. Serve out your suspension, follow the rules, and maybe you won’t get chucked to Antarctica when you’re reassigned.”

She nodded, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and then hugged him. "I will. I won't let you down again, Jack. I swear."

"For god's sake, Brady," he grumped, patting her twice on the back. "Pull yourself together. I taught you better than that."

She grinned at him and straightened, and one corner of his mouth lifted. "I'll see you around, maybe?"

Jack heaved a melodramatic sigh and shrugged. "More than likely." He smiled at her then. "Be good, Thatcher. Take care of that new kid."

"I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with Brady and Ronon's journey all this time! I hope you've enjoyed it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby time!

“I remember this being a lot easier last time,” Brady muttered as she waddled from behind a freight container and joined a group of personnel who were heading for the ferry. Apparently the Atlantis cover story was something to do with a contaminate in the Frisco bay that required constant scientific observation. They even had a couple of observation vessels anchored at the edge of the Atlantis shield.

As the group approached the seamen scanning ID badges, she laughed at whatever the others laughed at so it would seem she belonged. A sharp pain in her back made her breath hitch and she pressed a hand over it, glancing around quickly. Nobody had looked at her twice. After a short moment, the pain rolled around to her abdomen, then subsided. It’d happened a few times. Probably gas. Either that, or Baby Dex was still mad about the drive. Every time she’d stopped to pee, the baby had kicked the everloving crap out of her. He or she was now settled low, resting on her bladder.

She scanned her ID and smiled at the guard as she stepped onto the ferry, making her way to a corner where she would be out of the way. Hopefully no one would pay her much attention.

“When’s the baby due?”

Damn. Pasting a smile on her face, she turned to the elderly man who came to stand beside her. “In about a week, actually.” She laughed genuinely, because even with everything going on, all that was on her mind, the bit of knowledge that she’d be a mother soon made her joyous.

He nodded, looking surprised. “And you’re still working! That’s wonderful. Congratulations. Boy or girl?”

Her hand went to her belly. “I don’t know, actually. My partner and I decided to…sort of surprise ourselves, I guess. We’ll be blissful with either—but it’d be nice to have a little girl. Ya know, to back me up when her dad gets hard to handle,” she added with a wink.

“Oh, believe me, I understand that idea. My wife and I had six girls.” He turned his face to the wind, checking the ferry’s progress. “You been here before?”

“Oh yes.” Her heart lurched as the ferry approached the Atlantis perimeter. “I was involved in reentry, sort of.”

“Really? You were on the…” he nodded his head in the direction of the ship.

“Not the whole time—it’s a long story. But I’ve worked in Pegasus for five years. Ten overall in the program.”

“That’s an impressive record.” He braced himself on the rail as the ferry coasted to the dock of the observation station. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around.” He shook her hand. “And again, congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she said, returning his handshake.

When the ferry was moored and the passengers began unloading, Brady followed the crowd into the station and down to the trams that shuttled rotating personnel in and out of Atlantis. Since landing, the world’s top engineers and astrophysicists had been in and out, analyzing various ship components and, allegedly, working on ways to restore power so the ship could return to Pegasus. Last she’d heard, flight was closer than it had been when the crew had first debriefed Landry and the IOA, but no one knew how much longer it would take for the ship to fully function again.

The tram door opened and Brady felt the overwhelming urge to cry. She was home. The spires of the city rose to greet the visitors and man, she’d missed that sight. The tram unloaded on the eastern port, so she’d have to cross a lot of territory to make it to her quarters. She’d just entered the central spire with a ferry group when another pain hit her. She could feel her face pinch as she clenched her jaw. Not the best time to have preggo tummy. If nothing else, she’d be glad when she regained control of her body—no more swelling, no more having to pee every ten minutes. Oh, and the heartburn! One more week and she’d be on her way to being herself again, and with a precious baby in her arms.

The pain passed and she eased away from the group, then followed the corridor toward the transporter that would take her to her sector. There were a lot of people she’d never seen milling about, but she’d caught a glimpse of familiar faces. God, she was glad to be home.

As she approached the transporter, she felt a surge of happiness. Now she just needed to…to…

Her steps slowed and she sucked her bottom lip in, chewing furiously. Up ‘til now, her goal had been getting to Atlantis—getting away from Nellis, surviving the drive without road-raging on someone (for the baby’s sake), sneaking through the quarantine, and getting into the city. Now that she was actually there…

Nope. She had nothing.

“Shit. Shitshitshit,” she hissed, ducking into an alcove between two support columns. She chewed on her thumbnail, mind racing. “What next? What next?”

Maybe she’d find Ronon? Ohhh, he was gonna freak. Sheppard? Possibly a worse idea than Ronon. After the incident on the hive, Shep was a little less tolerant of her shenanigans. She should probably call Daniel. Based on the volume of his calls, he was in full heart-attack mode. She took out her phone, wincing at the number of missed calls and voicemails. She checked them, guilt piling up with each of his attempts to reach her—

_“Hey, it’s me. Just checking to see how you’re doing this week. What’d your doctor say? How long until I’m a godfather? We all just want to check on you. Talk later.”_

_“Hey. Me again. Uh, yeah, just checking in. Guess maybe your phone died? Still getting used to having to charge things up, probably. Yeah. So…just…I’ll talk to you later.”_

_“Hey, Brady. I know you’re not really in the best situation right now, ya know, with the baby coming and Ronon being in California. I’m sorry, kid. I wish there was something I could do, ya know? Listen, I’m kinda…kinda getting a little worried. Can you call me? You don’t have to talk long. Just let me know you’re not like, abducted by aliens.”_

She rolled her eyes, smiling softly. “Lame.”

The message continued, “_Haha. Yeah, that’s a bad joke. Ok. Uh, call me.”_

Her smile was erased by the tone of the last voicemail. Daniel spoke urgently, quietly, his voice an incredulous hiss. “Y_ou—you listen to me right now. Whatever it is you’re doing, you need to stop. I need you to call me back right now, Brady, and tell me I’m crazy for even thinking you’d attempt something as stupid as sneaking through a highly secured Naval quarantine! Call me back, please. Please, please, for the love of God, call me back and tell me I’m wrong_.”

“Aw, man,” she groaned quietly. She looked down at her belly. “I’m in so much trouble, kid. Mommy’s a jackass.” Maybe she should sneak back to land and call, like a normal person? She could play it off like she’d made a surprise weekend trip instead of, like, freaking out and abandoning her position at Area 51.

The doors of the transporter opened with a soft whoosh, and she pressed back into the wall, hoping the shadows of her hiding spot would hide her until she managed to figure out how to get out—

“You. Are. _SHITTING ME_!”

Brady looked down and realized most of her belly was still visible from between the columns a split-second before she was snatched out of hiding by a strong and undeniably angry grip. Evan Lorne gawped at her, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Hi,” she said meekly.

“What—how—“ He took a deep breath, eyes closed, the already-crushing grasp on her arm tightening just a smidge. He ushered her in front of him and pointed. “Walk.”

“I just popped in for a weekend visit.” She took a step backward. “There’s no need to—“

“Now, Brady!”

When she turned and slowly began to shuffle forward, he followed. Even the sound of his boots was angry. She’d seen Lorne pissed a time or two, but she’d never experienced it when directed at her. She felt like a second-grader on the way to the principal’s office. Except second-graders don’t often get charged with treason and face life in federal prison, or whatever.

“In the grand scheme of things, is it really such a big deal that I’m here? I mean, it’s not like I was banished or anything.”

“Don’t talk.” His boots sounded angrier.

“Yeah, but—“

“This is Lorne,” he said. Apparently on the radio. “Anybody got eyes on Woolsey?” A pause. “Sir, I’ve got a situation. I’ll meet you in your office. No, sir, I think it’d be best to keep it contained for the moment.”

Brady placed a hand on her side as another wave of pain jabbed her back and rippled around. This was stronger than any of the others. Stronger, and…closer. Oh. Oh, this wasn’t good. “Um, Evan?”

“Don’t. I’m serious. You’ve been with the program for a decade. Your disregard for authority and your stubbornness was always going to be your downfall, but I never thought you’d do something that’d get you—” He huffed out a breath. “Right now, Brady, you need to just keep quiet.”

The pain lasted longer than the last, but eased after a few extra seconds. Not gas. Holy shit, contractions. Baby Dex wasn’t gonna wait until next week. “Evan, I’m having—“

Woolsey’s voice interrupted her announcement as he rounded the corner and caught sight of them. “What—what— what the hell are you doing here?! Inside!” he shouted, pointing at his office. The control room was basically abandoned, so he apparently wasn’t concerned with anyone overhearing him losing his calm demeanor.

“I think I’m having a baby,” she said, leaning against the back of a chair.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Dr. Thatcher?” Woolsey asked, ignoring her words. “I have to report this. You know that, right? You broke through a naval quarantine. You basically committed the breaking and entering of a top secret military facility. Your clearance for Atlantis has been changed since you began working at Area 51. You can’t just show up and run rampant. For God’s sake, this isn’t a summer camp!” He paced anxiously, fury and concern warring in his features. “I _have_ to report you.”

Her heart dropped to her feet. “And…and then what?”

Woolsey stopped and looked at her, disappointment in his eyes. “I have no idea. It isn’t up to me,” he said plainly. “Tribunal? Prison? One thing I’m pretty sure of,” he added, bracing his hands on his desk and staring her in the face, “is that you’ve probably screwed any chance you had of getting back on the Pegasus roster.” He shoved away from the desk and resumed pacing. “Why? Why must you always assume that rules and regulations don’t apply to you?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know.” She felt pressure building in her back again. “Richard, I need to see Carson.”

“Right now you need to sit down and get comfortable, because I’m about to call SGC, and they’re gonna want to talk to—“

She hissed in a breath, bearing down on the back of the chair as another contraction ripped through her. “No, like, I _need_ to see Carson.” She breathed through the pain counting in her mind. Thirty-eight seconds.

“Oh—oh my god, are you in labor right now?” Woolsey dropped the phone on his desk and rushed over to her.

“Whoa, you’re what?” Lorne asked, eyebrows shooting skyward. “Brady, you just hold up, all right? You can’t be in labor.”

She bared her teeth at him. “It’s not exactly ideal for me either, Evan. Call Carson. Tell him I’m on the way.” She let go of the chair, but had barely taken three steps when a warm wetness spread down the legs of her jeans.

“Oh man! You’re—that’s—Brady, you _can’t_ have a baby here!” Lorne pleaded. “This is Lorne. I need Dr. Beckett to the infirmary now.”

“Not the infirmary, dammit. He’s _in_ the infirmary,” Woolsey said as he supported Brady’s arm and slowly walked her to the door.

“No, not the infirmary,” Lorne corrected. “Corridor C-18. Put some speed on it, Doc. It’s an emergency. Bring a gurney.”

“How far apart are they? The contractions?”

“Not too far. They started a few hours ago, but I just thought it was GI stuff.” The pressure was already building again.

As they stepped into the hallway, Teyla exited a transporter.

“Teyla!” Lorne called. His face had gone a sort of grayish white. Brady hoped he didn’t pass out.

“Brady?” Teyla looked surprised, then, taking in the situation, swiftly displaced Woolsey at Brady’s side and ushered her toward the infirmary. “Slowly, now.” She looked over her shoulder at Woolsey and nodded. “I will take it from here, Mr. Woolsey. I have no doubt you have phone calls to make. Major Lorne, perhaps someone should radio Ronon so he can return to Earth?”

“On it.”

“Ronon’s not here?” Brady asked. A slice of unease rippled through her, but it was quickly replaced by burning, gut-wrenching agony. She groaned and clutched her abdomen. “Holy shitballs, this sucks!” she growled through clenched teeth.

“Breathe, Brady,” Teyla said, voice quiet and soothing.

She inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. Forty-one seconds. They were coming at about, what, six minutes apart? Five? That’s baby time, right? She looked up when she heard hurried footsteps and the squeak of gurney wheels.

“What’s this?” Carson asked, lowering the gurney so she could sit on it. As she adjusted into a recline, he checked her heartrate, scolding her all the while. “Are you out of your bloody mind? What’re you doing here? You should be at home, not traversing the bloody country.”

Unable to bear anyone else getting onto her, she burst into tears. “I’m sorry! I just wanted to come ho-home!” She covered her face and cried. Carson wheeled the bed down the hall and Teyla walked beside. “A guy at work was mean to me and said bad things about aliens and I just missed my life and I wanted to come home but I didn’t know what I was gonna do when I got here and when I got here I realized I couldn’t stay so I was gonna leave but Evan found me first and he was so ma-a-ad!”

“As well he should be,” Carson said. “But that’s something we will discuss after you’ve delivered your baby.”

“Is it now?” she asked. She wiped her cheeks and pivoted to peer at Carson. “It’s time now?”

“Not quite yet,” Teyla said. “You’ll know when it’s time. You have quite a lot of work to go through first,” she added apologetically.

“Aye. We’ll take care of you, love. Don’t you worry.”

\--

Brady squeezed Teyla’s hand as another contraction ripped through her.

Teyla had turned the infirmary into a comfortable, peaceful birthing suite. Hours had passed since Carson had hooked her up to the monitors. He’d run scans every half-hour and assured her that everything was progressing nicely.

“Look at the flames, Brady,” Teyla said, directing her gaze toward the candles she’d placed on the desk at the foot of the bed. She inhaled slowly, then exhaled, coaching Brady on controlling her breath.

When she could relax her jaw and speak again, Brady leaned back against her pillow, releasing Teyla’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Man, this sucks. Why is it taking so long?”

Teyla gave a soft smile. “Life always moves at the pace it chooses. This is no different.” She dabbed Brady’s forehead with a cool cloth, then held a cup to her lips. “Drink this. It will ease your queasiness.”

She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “Blegh. Tastes like pee smells.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t suppose it’s possible to get an epidural or anything, huh? A little something for mommy?”

“Carson is waiting until you’re a bit closer.”

She snorted. “I can feel this kid’s head cramming into the birth canal like somebody putting a Buick into a doghouse. I’d say I’m close enough.” Her breath quickened. “Here comes another one.” Her eyes opened and found Teyla’s. “Confession time? I’m scared, Teyla. I don’t know if I’m ready to be a mother.”

Teyla brushed a hand over Brady’s sweat-dampened hair and kissed her forehead. “Sweet Brady,” she said with a smile. “I believe that many women, when finding themselves where you are now, have said the same. I believe this because I wondered it myself. But this child,” she continued, taking Brady’s hand again when her contraction started. “Your child was made in love, and nothing can change that, not even for a moment.” She kept her voice soft and gentle, meant to soothe. “You and Ronon will love this child forever, and he—or she—will love you.”

The contraction ended and Teyla resumed caring for Brady, offering water and helping her stay anchored.

A short while later, Carson came around, scanner in hand. He checked the monitors and approached Brady’s bed, wincing. “I’ve got good news and bad news, love. Which would you like first?”

She pinned the doctor with a baleful glare.

“Right. Good news is that the baby’s as ready to be born as you are to be free of it. The bad news,” he said, taking a small-but-unmissable step away from the bed, “is that she—or he—is so ready, that we’ve missed the window for your epidural.”

“You…what?” She shook her head. “Nope. No, no, no. You are gonna give me drugs, Carson.”

“Look at the flames, Brady,” Teyla suggested. “Remember your _paece_.”

Brady closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, then looked at the dancing candle flames. No reason to completely undo hours of work just because she’d be squeezing something akin to a five pound bag of potatoes out of a piping bag. Her head whipped to the side. “You give me some damn drugs, Carson!” The monitor began beeping faster, even as she felt the pressure of another contraction. Two minutes since the last. It was really happening.

“I’m sorry, love. Ok, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, eying the monitor. “When your contraction hits, I want you to push, all right? We’ve got you, dear. You’re going to be fine.”

Brady nodded and tears pooled. She hurt. She was exhausted. And she hadn’t even gotten to the really tough part yet. She moaned and clutched at Teyla, bared down, and pushed. Seventy seconds. That’s how long the last contraction had lasted. All she had to do was ride it out. She cried out as this one peaked, but Teyla was speaking softly and the candle flames were dancing gracefully in the warm glow of the room. She relaxed back against the pillow as the contraction ended. Eighty-two seconds. She had about a minute and a half’s reprieve.

Carson nodded encouragingly. “Beautiful, Brady. You’re doing great, love.”

_Doing great_, she thought with a resolute nod. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she readied herself for the next round. She was doing great.

\--

“Aaaaaargh!”

Ronon’s steps quickened as Brady’s shriek echoed down the corridor. He shoved past Lorne and into the infirmary. The nurse pointed to the curtained-off area in the back and when he lifted the curtain aside, he saw Brady straining, curling up on herself, eyes pinched shut as a wail tore from her throat. Beckett sat on a stool between her legs as he waited to intercept her child.

_Their_ child.

Ronon took slow steps on shaky legs as he approached his woman. He laid his hand over hers, taking a deep breath when her fingers clenched his in a white-knuckled grip. She opened her eyes and looked at him, sweat pouring down her face and matting her hair to her forehead and cheeks.

Beckett told Brady to breathe, and Ronon demonstrated the technique he’d seen on the videos he’d watched on the internet. Brady fell back when Beckett told her to relax and turned her face toward him. He smiled and bent down to kiss her.

“_Don’t. You. Touch. Me_!” she hissed, even as she clenched his hand harder.

“You’re doing great, _quo’l kai._”

“You don’t know,” she said. “You haven’t even been here, you bastard!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. “But I _am_ here, Brady. Always.”

Her face crumpled and he kissed her forehead as she began to tense again with pain.

Beckett repositioned her legs. “All right, love. I need you to push for me, aye? Come on, Brady. Push!”

Ronon supported her back as she sat forward. “That’s it, there you go,” he encouraged.

“Baby’s crowning,” Beckett said. “One more. Big one this time. Come on. Go. Push.”

She screamed and Ronon’s hold tightened. The sound of her agony affected him greatly. He’d been near birth rooms before and had shaken his head at the screams and curses he’d heard, but he’d been unable to relate them to people he cared about. But Brady was strong and tough, and to hear her sound so anguished nearly broke him.

“There we go! There we go, now!” Beckett chanted. Brady went lax against Ronon’s arm, and a second later there was a squeak, then a tiny, furious cry.

Brady covered her mouth and tears streamed down her face. She lifted his hand, still linked with hers, and kissed the back of it. “We have a baby,” she laughed.

He kissed her lips, his own tears mingling with her taste, and smiled down into the eyes of the woman he loved. “You did it, Brady.” He kissed her again, and she held him close.

Beckett and his nurses tended the newborn. When they’d finished their ministrations and Brady had completed what Beckett had called “stage three”, Teyla passed the blanket-wrapped bundle of baby to Ronon, then raised up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“My heart is full,” she said. He could see the sadness in her eyes and knew she was thinking of her son, who was a galaxy away on New Athos. “Congratulations to you both.”

“We’ll give you a few minutes before we come get you cleaned up,” Beckett said. He leaned down and kissed the top of Brady’s head, then shook Ronon’s hand. “Congratulations, big man.”

“Thank you,” he said, pulling the doc in for a one-armed hug. “For everything.”

Beckett slapped his back and left the two of them alone.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Brady asked. Her eyelids were getting heavy, Ronon noticed.

“Names first,” he said, taking a seat in a rocking chair. “If he’s a boy: Ronon Khal Dex, II.”

“Ronon Khal? Babe, that’s a terrible name.”

He arched a brow. “That’s _my_ name.”

“I know.” She smiled drowsily. “Fine. But, our daughter’s name will be…Sateda Indiana Dex. Called Indiana, of course.”

“That’s awful.”

“It’s a nod to the homeplaces! Shut up and unwrap.”

He nodded, then laid the baby in his lap and gently unwrapped. His smile nearly split his face in two.

“We have a son?” Brady asked.

Ronon cradled the baby gently in his big hands, then laid the naked baby on Brady’s chest. She smiled, tearful yet again, as she placed her cheek against the mop of soft dark curls. “A son.”

His grin widened. “Look again, little mother.”

Brady shifted the baby on her chest. “A girl! Oh, Ronon, we’ve got a daughter!” She held out her arm for him, and he drew forward to hold his family close. “Welcome to Earth, Little Indiana,” Brady whispered. She kissed the baby’s head, then turned and kissed him. “I love you, Ronon Dex.”

“_Qui’d ilt y’lei_, Brady Thatcher.” _You are the sun in my life_.

Brady, exhausted, drifted off to sleep. Ronon lifted Indi and swaddled her, then sat in the rocking chair for hours, holding her close. Even when Beckett’s team arrived to change out Brady’s bed, she didn’t stir.

“She’ll be out for a while, son. She had a rough go of it,” Beckett said, stroking Indi’s soft cheek. “Why don’t you go and show her around? I hear the lads are in the mess, waiting to congratulate you. Besides, you’ll want to call her folks and Dr. Jackson.”

Ronon looked at Brady. He didn’t want to leave her.

“Trust me, Ronon. You’ve got the time. Take it. Lord knows we’ll have a quite a bit to deal with once she’s recovered from delivery.”


End file.
